Fire in the Sewers
by Peechy-Keen
Summary: Has anyone ever noticed how sewer systems are filled with methane gas, which is highly flammable and, consequently, explosive? Has anyone noticed that the Hamato clan uses various forms of fire down there in their day-to-day lives? Donatello finally does.
1. Some Light Reading

**A/N: Hey all! Miss me? =D So this is what happens when I try to write a one-shot. It goes TCRI on me and mutates additional chapters. But I'm sure no one's complaining, and even though Don and Mikey are set as the stars of this thing, it still has plenty of Raph and Leo. I actually didn't set out with the desire to make them the focal characters. It just happened, as lame as that sounds. They have a nasty habit of taking over any fic I try to write, the two goons. And as if that weren't enough, the Shredder and Foot somehow muscled their way into this, too, completely confusing the genre. I like to think I'm in control when I write, but obviously we all know better than that. ;) **

**The usual disclaimer still applies. Enjoy!**

Deep below ground in the sewers of New York City, Donatello emerged from his bedroom with one of his many chemistry books tucked comfortably under one arm. Today he had spent the last hour reading about inflammable gases for no ulterior purpose than knowledge. It was something to learn, and learning passed the time on a dreary, downcast winter day like today. Not that any of them could _see_ that it was downcast outside. The sewers simply had that familiar damp chill in the air that crept down to the bone and made the turtles inevitably sluggish.

As Don carried out the mug and plate that had not long ago accompanied him to his studies, his mind absently wandered back to methane gas. The cold in the sewers was growing worse by the day, yet in spite of his brothers' numerous suggestions, requests, and ideas, Don couldn't devise an efficient way to heat their home without soon losing the warmth to the countless drafty adjacent tunnels. It's not like the Lair was sufficiently insulated; sewers weren't exactly ideal domestic dwellings. And even then, securing a fuel source to produce the heat was a challenge in itself.

True, he had been able to tap into an electrical unit above and pirate power to satisfy their needs, but heating was an entirely different matter, all things considered.

Passing through the rec room on his way to the kitchen, Donatello thought wistfully of how the sewers were already teeming with methane gas—one of the main components of natural gas. He paused midstride, flipping open his textbook on a whim and thumbing through the pages until he found the desired chapter.

_Methane is produced in considerable quantities from the decaying of organic __solid waste__. …In many cities, methane is piped into homes for domestic __heating__ and cooking purposes. In this context it is usually known as __natural gas__, and is considered to have an energy content of 39 __megajoules__ per cubic meter, or 1,000 __BTU__ per __standard cubic foot__._

"That could be our solution," Don muttered to himself, lightly smacking the back of his hand against the page for emphasis. "If only I could somehow harness the natural methane we have right here, mix it with some key ingredients…" cutting himself off, he shook his head and closed his book with grim finality. Not only would such a cocktail of gases be nearly impossible to replicate, but methane was an extremely volatile substance. One lick of flame, and the whole Lair could be blown to high heaven.

The thought struck an unsettling cord.

Come to think of it, _any_ fire in the sewers could easily set off an explosive chain reaction in seconds, devastating the surrounding network of tunnels. The disastrous implications hitting him like a blow to the gut, Donny felt a distinct shiver—notably unrelated to the weather—spread down his spine and vanish just as quickly as it had arrived.

How could he have overlooked such a blatantly obvious danger that posed a perpetual threat at home? After all these years, all it would have taken was the strike of a match and then _boom_, nothing. Their destruction wouldn't even be by the Shredder's hand, like the Foot leader so often boasted, but by their own. Unlike a ninja that could be crippled by a blow or avoided, this new enemy was ubiquitous.

He glanced in apprehension about his softly lit surroundings, finally keen to the danger that clung to the deceivingly empty space around him. What if…? He gathered himself with a steadying breath. No, all this time without incident couldn't just be mere coincidence. His family must know better. They had lived their entire lives in the sewers without any such disaster occurring, so they must have known the dangers fire would pose and acted accordingly. Taken preventative measures.

His shoulders sagging in unmistakable relief, Don managed a shaky smile in the face of this sharp scare and rounded the corner into the kitchen, crossing over to the sink.

As he rinsed out the dishes, he caught sight of Mikey from the corner of his eye and acknowledged his brother with a brief glance and a smile, turning back to his task.

"Hey, Mi-" Don immediately froze, mug still in hand, and did a rapid double-take.

"'Sup, bro?" Mikey called cheerfully as he heaved a pot full of water onto the stovetop and reached to turn on the burner. A _gas_ burner.

Don's mind raced, his mouth suddenly dry. Since _when_ did they have a gas stove? Since when did they have gas to work a gas stove? These questions were immediately shoved from his head, however, as his wide eyes locked on Mikey moving to turn on the burner that would produce a _flame_ in a _methane-riddled_ sewer.

Now Hamato Donatello wasn't usually given to cursing, but under such extraordinary circumstances, only one word came to mind.

"_Shit!_"


	2. Inflammable

**A/N: Sorry for the stalled updates, everyone. I had a combination of technical issues and urgent family matters hit me at the same time. AKA: the perfect storm. Unfortunately, along with this chapter update comes some bad, and good, news. The bad news is that due to the aforementioned technical issues, I lost half this story. The good news is I was able to salvage the first half of this story, so you'll continue to receive daily chapter updates until I reach the point where tragedy struck (I'll be sure to let you know when that is). Now most people would freak out at losing half their story and give up (*tears at hair and bangs head on desk*), but not me! I've edited this thing so many dang times I still know the story by heart. I've even begun retyping it already. Thus, I'll try to have it all spick and span again before I run out of chapter updates. If not, the updates may come a little later than the ideal time at a certain point, but rest assured that they will come with all haste! Thanks again for your support, story alerts, story faves (That alone amazed me. I haven't even reached the good part yet!), and above all, reviews. Now on with the show!**

Such a sudden, unexpected outburst from his characteristically mild brother halted Mikey midway through his act, his fingers just grazing the nozzle to the stove before freezing in dumb shock. This delay gave Don just enough time to drop his mug in the sink and dive, intent on tackling his brother to the relative safety of the concrete floor.

Mikey could only gape in slack-jawed shock at the moment. "…Dude! Have you been taking vocabulary lessons from Ra—OOMPH!"

Already distracted by the word that he could have sworn was still ringing through the air with unnatural clarity, Mikey was unprepared for the thrust that drove him to the ground and pinned him beneath a frazzled Donny.

"Geez, Don! The _shell_ was that for!"

At the same moment of Michelangelo's outburst, Donatello sternly reprimanded, "What on _earth_ were you thinking, Mikey!"

This sudden accusation only made Mikey more indignant. "_Me_? Bro, it's _mac & cheese_!" He enunciated each syllable incredulously. "If you wanted me to make something else, there are better ways to say so than tackling a dude to the floor!"

"Mac & cheese?" Already Don was beginning to calm down in the wake of potential disaster, but the words didn't quite register yet, seeing as his mind was still on overdrive.

Mikey noticed how his brother's eyes were considerably less dilated and his breathing was evening out, but even so, he spoke slowly, nodding at the big pot of water waiting to boil on the stove with patronizing sincerity. "Um, yeah, Don. Mac & cheese. You know, the yummy cheesy stuff that isn't pizz—"

Don cut Mikey off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I know what macaroni is, Mike. What I don't get is _how_ you're cooking it. Where did we even get that _thing_?" Don pointed an accusing finger at the stove, his eyes still flashing with urgency.

"Uh… that's the stove, Donny. We've had that for a while. It's where we cook stuff."

This wasn't working. Don ran a weary hand over his face, his patience ebbing. Obviously, he had to be more direct. "Mikey, that's a _gas_ stove with burners that make a blue _flame_ to heat food."

If he wasn't concerned about his brother's odd behavior already, Mikey certainly was now. "…Yeah? So?"

Realizing just how obscure his point was, Don opted for a more thorough explanation. "Mikey, this sewer is full of methane gas from the decomposition of organic waste. The very air we breathe is a highly volatile inflammable fuel."

Mikey suddenly grinned in relief. Why was he grinning? "Geez, Don, is that what you're all worked up over? You had me worried for a second. That's good news, right? It's not flammable, so can I go back to cooking?"

Clearly lost, Don could only blink. "Just _how_ is this a good thi-" he stopped short, taking a breath and trying again. "Mikey, I just said the gas was inflammable."

"Right."

Don stared. "IN—FLAMMABLE."

"I got that, dude. Inflammable. As in not flammable. What's your point?"

Dear God. "Inflammable _means_ flammable, Mikey."

There was a short pause as Mikey's relaxed grin faded into a pensive frown. "Wait, wait," he held up his hands in a time-out gesture. "So, what you're trying to say is… if we light a fire down here… _BOOM_?"

"Spontaneous combustion to be more precise, but yes, _BOOM_."

At this sudden clarification, Mikey's eyes grew wide in both disbelief and surprise. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"I did!"

"Dude, you said 'inflammable.'"

"Which means flammable."

"Well, that's stupid. Who invented two ways to say one word to mean the same thing? Is the guy some relative of Casey's?"

Don gripped Mikey's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake, hand firm. "Michelangelo. Focus."

Though he still looked ready to contend the use of two versions of 'flammable,' Mikey had the good grace to break off his protest with a sheepish smile. "Right. Sorry." He hesitantly torn his gaze from Don's and glanced up at the stove now, warily eying the appliance as if it were some erratic beast bent on his demise. "You sure, Don?" Satisfied the stove wasn't going to erupt in a ball of fire any time soon, he returned his attention to his brother. "I mean, we've been using all kinds of fire down here for ages and nothing bad ever happened."

Have they? "That's just it, though. It doesn't make any sense! By all rights something should have happened."

Mikey wriggled uncomfortably, not yet fully convinced. "If you say so, Don. You're the genius... Just one thing: could you, oh, I don't know… get off of me?"

It was only then that Donny noticed he was still perched on Mikey's chest, knees digging into his plastron. "Sorry." Scrambling off of his brother and offering a hand, he hoisted Mikey up with an apologetic smile.

Once on his feet, Michelangelo made a show of dramatically brushing himself off, earning an eye-roll from Donatello. Still grinning, he shrugged casually and offered, "So if nothing blew up before, why question it now? Let's just continue as if it makes sense. No harm done."

Don shook his head, having already considered the option. "Not exactly. At least, I don't think so. Now that we've become aware of the anomaly, I'm not sure it can perpetuate itself without our ignorance to bolster it."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning that after I read about it in my textbook, it became truth, and now that it's truth, the rules of the anomaly have been rewritten. Now that we know there's methane gas down here, any fire we use has the potential to level this place. …In theory, anyway. Here—" Don quickly jogged over to the counter where he had set his book beside the sink. Finding the marked pages with ease, he passed it to Mikey and crossed his arms patiently as his brother read. "Textbooks don't make a habit of lying, Mikey. Call me crazy if you want, but the proof is right there."

As Mikey read, his eyes darted across the page more rapidly with each line. "So this is serious? You're not just sick in the head from watching too many _Doctor Who_ reruns?" He looked up, eyes begging Don to contradict him.

This just figured. It didn't make any sense, but when did it _ever_ have to? It was as if their entire existence was just one big funked-up comic book or television series that consisted of anomalies meshed together by impossibilities that some guy never bothered to think through before he published.

"But Don, how did something like this get overlooked in the first place? You can't just… not _know_ something exists, and so it doesn't exist… right? I mean, the world wouldn't just forget to have gravity or something because we're not thinking about it just now, _right_?" Don's eyes grew wide as he considered the epiphany, and a short silence ensued. At that, both heads urgently snapped down to verify that their feet were still planted firmly on the floor and not floating several inches in the air. Was it crazy that they were relieved to find gravity still functioning properly?

For once completely devoid of a logical explanation, Donatello could only shake his head slowly, eyes unfocused. After a moment of thought, he quickly brought himself back to the situation at hand. "You know as much as I do. Until we figure out what crazed force of fate is responsible for all this nonsense, no fire, understood? Not even so much as a spark."

Mikey nodded. What else was there to say? "So, what now?"

The question was a welcome distraction to occupy Don's perplexed mind. Trying to make sense of this particularly bizarre problem boded rather frustrating at the moment, but acting in response to the problem wasn't nearly as difficult. "Since you didn't know about the methane gas, it's safe to assume no one else does, either. This means our main priority at the moment is to scour the Lair and remove any potentially hazardous—"

"Um, Don?"

Slightly irked from being interrupted, Don favored his brother with a raised eye-ridge.

"Potentially hazardous as in that?" Mikey pointed in the direction of the rec room, blue eyes locked on something beyond Don's shoulder.

Spinning to follow his brother's gaze, Don felt his eye twitch slightly at what he saw next. "_Shit."_


	3. Knowledge

**A/N: We're still going strong with the updates, and I actually got a good chunk of the lost chapters rewritten today. Let's see if my fingers are fast enough to keep up. Also, thanks for the encouraging reception to the last chapter, everyone! It was a all-together unexpected but very exciting. =D Without further ado, enjoy!**

Leonardo knelt calmly beside the fireplace (They had a _fireplace_?) arranging a cluster of newspaper and wood to build what else but a fire—probably to help combat the cold and end everyone's (i.e. Mikey and Raph's) complaints about frozen toes and fingers. This day just kept getting better.

Both Donny and Mikey stiffened when they saw their brother inevitably pick up a lighter that he had set on the floor beside him, clearly intent on igniting the kindling. Donatello oddly silent beside him, Mikey's grip convulsively tightened on the chemistry book he still held. Any residual doubt considered, he still wasn't all too eager to discover if Don's theory was right or wrong at the moment.

"_Move!_" Don suddenly shouted, sprinting for Leo.

As valiant as his brother's attempt at direct action was, Mikey knew they weren't going to reach Leo in time. Unless… On complete impulse, Mikey winged the textbook he had across the room at Leo's head. As he had anticipated, Leo instinctively reacted to the projectile, dropping the lighter and catching the book, his eyes narrowing as he scoured the room for the offender. What he didn't expect to see was Donatello charging across the room and leaping the remaining distance to drive him to the floor.

"Mikey, grab the lighter!" Don ordered as he pinned a stunned Leo to the ground.

"Copy that, dude!" Mikey confirmed as he took a running start and slid to his knees, swiping the lighter off the floor as he coasted by and jumping to his feet in one motion. He watched far too many action movies for his own good sometimes.

Calmly spectating the events from his prime vantage point on the floor beneath his ordinarily rational brother, Leo didn't know what to make of any of it. What he did know, however, was that he didn't want to know. Alas, the obligations of leadership. It was his duty to know. "Do I want to know?"

Don hesitated. "You'll think I'm crazy."

"A little late for that, Donny."

Forcing an uncomfortable half-smile, Don rolled off of Leo and pushed himself to his feet, hoisting his eldest brother up after him. Déjà vu.

"Now," Leo looked between the two conspirators before him with righteous composure that could only come with years of experience. "Why?"

Don bent and picked up the textbook that Leo had dropped in the collision, handing it to him as if it were an answer in itself. "Read this, first. It probably explains everything better than I can."

Eyes darting over the chapter with due haste, Leo closed the book once he finished and cocked his head, aiming a quizzical look at the more scientifically competent of the three turtles. "It's about methane and its fuel capabilities, Don. I don't see how that—" Then the pieces clicked together.

"Boom," Mikey interjected quietly.

"You mean just now I almost…" Leo glanced at the lighter still gripped tightly in Mikey's fist.

The two nodded as one in response.

If turtles could go pale, Leo would have blanched under the implications. "This is insane, though. Just last week we made a fire when we lost power, and there wasn't any explosion. You sure this isn't one of Mikey's tabloids, Don? It hardly seems credible given our circumstances."

"He makes a good point," Mikey concurred, before his brow gradually puckered in thought. After reprocessing what Leo had just said, he frowned and spun on his brother. "Hey! They're totally credible! They had eyewitnesses confirm that T-Rex attack, Leo. Eyewitnesses!"

Disregarding Mikey's outburst, Don grimaced. "I know it makes no sense, but it's a genuine textbook. Plus, I may know a thing or two about explosives given my record, and though I'm still kicking myself over missing the obvious to begin with, the governing laws of combustion are just as real as ever. This is my theory—as good as it gets, anyway."

Leo nodded, ignoring Mikey's grumbled justifications for the _National Inquirer_ to focus on the larger matter at hand. "And I trust your theories. Do the others know?"

"I'm afraid not."

Leo nodded again, immediately sprinting off toward Master Splinter's room without wasting time for an explanation. "Find Raph! I think he's in his room!" he called back before rounding the corner and vanishing from sight.

Don and Mikey curiously watched Leo's flight and then glanced at each other.

"Well, you heard him," Don offered with a shrug. "Let's get Raph."


	4. Search and Destroy

**A/N: Well, folks, everything beyond this point was lost when I had those technical issues. But I am nearly done the next chapter, so perhaps you'll get your update tomorrow after all! If it can meet my finicky standards, that is. A big thank you to all my alerters, favers, lurkers, and above all, reviewers! Concrit is really appreciated, as much as I love to get praise. We write to improve, yeah? As always, please enjoy!**

Raphael straddled a chair and fiddled indecisively with the cigarette in his fingers. Finding himself secluded in his room, he decided that now was a better time than any to try the cigarette he got from Casey.

It looked like a fairly innocuous object as he twisted it around in his hands, and he always secretly admired the image it gave smokers. Heck, if he liked it, maybe he could get a picture of himself smoking and make it his profile picture on Facebook. Casey would get a kick out of it, and he could take a health lecture from Donny. Mikey would probably ask a million questions. Screw what Leo would think.

Raph leaned back in his seat with a snort of contempt for his deliberation. What was he? A coward? Enough putting it off. Not like one little taste would kill him.

The door opened just as Raph tucked the cigarette between his teeth and pulled the lighter from his belt. Mikey and Donny froze in the doorway at the sight that met them, their faces mirror images of dumb shock. Then Mikey spoke.

"So, Don. Are you going to tackle him, too, or should I have the honors this time?"

Don stared helplessly straight ahead, already plotting his health lecture. "Be my guest, Mikey."

That was all the clearance he needed. It wasn't every day he had _permission _to antagonize Raph. Rocketing forward without a second thought, Mikey ducked his shoulder—ready for impact and far too giddy given the situation. His warning call preceded him: "Raphy, _NOOOOOOO_—!"

At the sound of his name, or rather, his nickname that only one person in the world still had the guts—or the stupidity—to use, Raphael looked up and deadpanned, his face clearly expressing only one word that Mikey was well-acquainted with by now.

* * *

><p>Leo burst into Splinter's room just as the rat was reaching to strike a match. He had told his son not too long ago that he was eager to try out the new lotus candles that April had given him for his evening meditation exercises. At the time the announcement had been fairly harmless, and Leo thought little of it. That is, until his discussion with Donny.<p>

"_Master, no!_"

Splinter's ears swiveled at the disturbance. Something about the desperation in Leonardo's voice stilled his hand for a crucial moment. "Is there trouble, my son? You are clearly distressed."

Quickly composing himself, Leo crossed over to his father and held out his hand expectantly. "There's too much to explain, sensei. Just know that you need to give me those matches. We'll go to Donatello, and he'll clear everything up. I promise."

Master Splinter calmly regarded his son with impassive dark eyes. He trusted Leonardo's judgment, and the matter reeked of necessity. Inclining his head in the slightest, he placed the box in Leo's hand and stood to accompany his son with the softest of sighs. "I hope that Donatello can explain himself with diligent haste. You know as well as I that I prefer to complete my meditative exercises in time to view _Friends _at its regular hour."

Leo mustered a knowing smile. "Of course, father."

* * *

><p>Once everyone was gathered together, Mikey cheerfully nursing a newly-acquired bruise, Raph having just sat through three lectures, and Splinter periodically interjecting a soft reminder that time—or television for that matter—waited for no one, the Hamato family finally settled down to hear out Donatello's revelation.<p>

Posing only the occasional question or clarifying comment, Don's audience was grimly attentive for the most part, which allowed him to finish in time for a pleased Splinter to excuse himself in favor of a seat before the TV.

As he tapped his way toward the rec room with his walking stick, their master serenely instructed his sons to make good use of Donatello's warning and act judiciously, as odd as the circumstances might be. Nothing ever seemed to disturb their sensei's deceptively tranquil tempo.

"So what now?" Raph grunted as he watched Splinter disappear into the rec room, "No fire ever?"

Don shrugged. It was never good to see Don of all people shrug. It was like your doctor shrugging when you ask him for a diagnosis. Or your mechanic shrugging when you take your car in after an accident. Either way, it didn't bode well. "There's no safe way I can think of to test if the methane gas in these tunnels—if there is any to begin with—is flammable or just as harmless as ever. Going by the facts, it should be dangerous, but going by our history, it shouldn't. I think it's best not to tempt fate in our situation."

Raph mumbled something about turtle luck in response to that last comment, and frankly, everyone agreed with him this time.

"Then it's settled." Leo stepped forward, taking command with his '_authority voice'_ as Raph had secretly dubbed it. "Mikey, you call April, Casey, Angel—anyone who might be inclined to visit us down here—and warn them of the recent developments. Fast. We can't risk them carrying anything like a lit birthday cake down here without foreknowledge of what they'll meet, understood?"

Mikey saluted. "Aye, cap'n!" He whipped his shell cell off its clip on his belt and gave it a shake with a wink. "Speed dial fast enough for you?"

Leo nodded his approval and turned to Raph and Donny. "The rest of us will search this place top to bottom and remove anything that could pose a threat to our safety."

* * *

><p>After hours of meticulous "search and destroy" as Mikey called it, they had completely cleaned the Lair of Bunsen burners (much to Donatello's chagrin), candles (much to Master Splinter's chagrin), sparklers (left over from New Year's), and various other objects.<p>

All necessary electronics and appliances such as blow torches were quarantined to the garage topside. Needless to say, many disputes broke out between Don and Raph over the line between lab and auto shop over the ensuing weeks.

Splinter had to be content to enjoy his candles from the safety of April's apartment—a development that the redhead graciously accepted.

Soon enough, life returned to a semblance of normalcy for the Hamato clan, and Donatello's unusual theory remained untested under Splinter's cautious instructions, as much as the inquisitive turtle was loathe to adhere to them. Unfortunately, he did have an infamous history with pyrotechnics, and the last thing anyone needed was a sewer-wide display of it. That is, until one day…

**A/N: Forgive the cheesy cut-off, but I don't want people who may happen to disregard my A/Ns thinking this is the end of the fic. Far from it! I can't leave Don mid-scientific-process, now can I? ;) So stay tuned!**


	5. Yippie Ki Yay!

Raph barked out a grunt as he slammed into the brick wall of the alley, his carapace absorbing the brunt of the blow.

"You hurt, bro?" Mikey called, stealing a glimpse over his shoulder before lifting a nunchuck to block a hit, returning the favor with the other.

"Nah." Only his pride. Ducking a katana and knocking out the legs of the offender with a sweeping kick, Raph hustled toward the Shredder to rejoin Leo.

"One would think—" Don bit off the last word in a pant of exertion as he thrust his Bo in a sharp arc, ramming the butt of his weapon into a Foot ninja's gut. "—we could make a simple pizza run—" following his momentum, he hooked the end of his staff on the man's uniform, planted his foot, and pivoted, launching the ninja into a group of his peers nearby. "—without it becoming—" unable to admire the success of his human shot-put for longer than a heartbeat, Don quickly lifted his Bo to ward off the strike of a rival staff. "—mortal combat!"

Currently trading blows with three ninja, Mikey's voice hinted at laughter, "But think of how boring life would be, Donny!" Holding his nunchuck low and taut for Leo to use it as a springboard, Mikey took brief stock of the Shredder as his brother arched a backflip over their chief adversary's head. "Though I must say, I'm flattered you decided to grace us with your presence tonight, Shreddy Bear! What's the occasion?"

"The eve of our demise?" Leo volunteered, dropping to his haunches and dodge-rolling away from a savage kick.

Raph permitted a wolfish grin. "Revenge for our impudence?" His smile shifted to a sneer as he sidestepped a swift jab with moments to spare.

"Perhaps it's the anniversary of our coveted enmity?" Donny danced lightly around the blows of his opponents, the air displacement from their strikes ruffling his mask tails.

Mikey seemed to like that one. "Dude, if you're this upset that we forgot, we'll find a way to make it up to you," he offered, his grin laced with mirth. Only Mikey could find mirth at the end of a katana.

"Enough! I grow weary of your brash insolence." Not one to be made a fool, the Shredder turned abruptly on his heel with lethal grace to block a sai strike from behind.

Eyes wide in surprise, Raph felt his arm jerk to the side as the Shredder wrenched the weapon—its prongs caught on the claws of his gauntlet—free of the turtle's grasp and hurled it with reckless force in the direction of Leonardo. Chasing the movement, he flowed with his free hand into a hard punch to Raph's face. As the Shredder's forearm brushed past following the blow, several of the jagged spikes in his armor snatched at the turtle's skin and dragged a mangled gash across his cheek, drawing blood.

Before he could register what had happened, much less counter the attack, Raph found his wrist in the Shredder's vice-like grip. A pause. Then he was airborne, hurled over the Foot leader's shoulder.

Meanwhile, Leo reacted on pure instinct. With a deft upward swipe of his katana, he deflected the sai and sent the projectile spiraling harmlessly away until it struck the opposite wall and clattered to the floor. Unfortunately, this split-second of distraction was all the Shredder needed. Leo saw his brother launched toward him, but only managed to drop his katana to avoid impaling Raph before both collapsed to the floor in a heap on impact.

Never once pausing in his assault, the Shredder charged—intent on bloodlust. No one made a fool of Oroku Saki.

Scrambling to get their feet beneath them, the two only succeeded in disentangling themselves and rising on their hands and knees before their adversary was nearly upon them.

As the Shredder raised his clawed gauntlet, a familiar voice pierced the air.

"Rodeo Part II!"

Then the last thing that Raph or Leo expected to see happened: Oroku Saki was made a fool.

Leaping through the air with each end of a single nunchuck gripped in his hands, Michelangelo landed on the Shredder's shoulders and hitched the chain of his weapon on the three metal prongs of the Foot leader's helmet. With an almighty jerk, he pulled the Shredder's head to one side and effectively steered him away from his dumbstruck brothers.

Don's eyes narrowed as he turned to face a ninja who stood several yards away, brandishing a katana. After a short pause, they broke their stance by silent exchange and raced at each other with weapons at hand, ready for anything. Their contest came to a stumbling halt as a frantic Shredder veered across their path, roaring in frustration as he tried to buck his unwelcome green passenger. They weren't ready for that. Speechless, the two spectated the erratic progress of the feared Foot master, their weapons limp in their hands—forgotten in the absurdity of the moment.

Studying the situation, a short gasp of laughter escaped Donatello. The scene before him was uncannily reminiscent of the time that Mikey had used a toilet brush to ride a Triceraton like a bucking bronco. But now the Triceraton had been replaced by the Shredder. This was priceless.

"Dudes!" Mikey crowed from his perch. "The first time was fun, but the second is _GOLD_!"

Chancing a discreet sidelong glance, Donny noticed that the ninja he had previously engaged—as well as every other Foot ninja in the alley for that matter—was mesmerized by the spectacle before him. Obviously the sight of his master indulging in an undignified display of flailing and shouting to dislodge a stubborn mutant turtle from his back was uncommon back at base.

A split-second later, the only thing that ninja was viewing was the inside of his eyelids.

Don jogged over to join his brothers, who had risen and gathered their weapons in the interim. As he slid to a stop, he leveled Leo with a knowing scrutiny. "Okay, what's the plan?"

It would be foolish not to use the lull in the fighting to devise a strategy, and Leonardo already had that _light bulb _look that his brothers had learned to recognize. "Well, I've noticed that the manhole we were planning on using is still open," Leo replied with a nod at the exposed sewer access.

Raph frowned. "So? I ain't runnin', Fearless."

"Not my intent," Leo answered cryptically, a crafty smirk slowly taking shape on his face. "Does anyone have a light?"

Don suddenly grinned in understanding, his mind racing to put the plan into practice. "We're blocks away from the Lair, so it should sustain minimal, if any, damage."

Raph's face brightened as well. "And Master Splinter is havin' his candle time at April's with Klunk cuz the damn cat would shred the furniture if it's left alone."

"So there's hardly any risk," Leo finished triumphantly. "Ready to test your hypothesis, Don?"

**A/N: Guess what? I'm nearly done the next chapter! Funny how fast you can write when you've already written it before...**


	6. Moment of Truth

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! Here's the next chapter. Hope it was worth the wait. **

**To my anonymous reviewers:**

**_Methane detectors_: Yes, but methane in it's gaseous form isn't entirely ready for fuel purposes. Otherwise, I think someone would have thought to harness sewer methane a long time ago. (Or cow farts. lol. I saw a recent news report on how those are a significant source of methane in our atmosphere.) According to several sources (I've decided to quote the New York Times here) natural gas is "comprised of methane and other hydrocarbon compounds." Though methane is the main ingredient, it's still incomplete without these additives, which are usually present in underground reservoirs that fuel companies exploit. Heh. What can I say? I do my research before writing. Thank you for your review and criticism, though! I truly appreciate your concern. =)**

**_How about meals_: Oh, good question! I think it's safe to assume the microwave went, too. I don't think anyone would be too keen on risking a wall fire, sparks from a short circuit, or food catching fire, period. Not to mention, one would think an intense concentration of radiation would not bode well concerning volatile gases, but don't quote me on that. ;) Thanks for the review and question!**

**And without further ado, enjoy!**

"I never did follow through on the scientific process with this one…" Don cupped his chin thoughtfully, a vague smile playing across his face. "…and it's just crazy enough to work. We'll—"

The Shredder blundered behind them, trying in vain to get a hold of the nimble turtle still stubbornly clinging to him. Mikey ducked and weaved on his perch to avoid the Shredder's clutching hands and called out, "Bros! As much as I hate to disrupt the huddle, how much longer do I need to ride this crazy thing? I want off, pl—whoa!" He pulled tighter on his nunchuck to rein in his 'mount' as they pitched forward again.

It appeared that the sheer harassing unorthodoxy of Michelangelo's attack was enough to exasperate the Shredder and diminish the quality of his strikes to sloppy swats. The art of aggravation allowed Mikey to defeat Raph in the Battle Nexus. Apparently the same principles even applied to the great Oroku Saki.

Don winced at his brother's plea and consciously sped up his speech. "We'll need a means of starting a fire. Any suggestions?"

Though Raph was markedly reluctant to step forward, he capitulated given the pressing need at hand. Plus, Mikey's cliché exultations ("Yeehaw! Get along little doggy, er, Shreddy!") were beginning to give him a migraine. Plunging his hand into a pouch on his belt, he drew out a small lighter and held it up with a forced smile. "Will this work?"

At first Don and Leo regarded the instrument with delighted disbelief, but then their faces hardened into dual glares.

Raph matched their glares with his own. "Get your heads outta your rears. I was gonna try it _outside_, and I think I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

Though there were so many things both wanted to say regarding smoking, they abstained. For now.

"That'll do," Don replied curtly, snatching the lighter from Raph's hand with little ceremony. "Help Mikey dump the waste in its rightful place, and I'll get a blaze going." Surveying the alley, he spotted a cluster of trashcans propped against the far wall and ran to sift through them for newspaper, cardboard, anything he could use to craft a makeshift torch.

Taking a lead from their brother's industry, Leo and Raph sprinted to Mikey's aid, and not a moment too soon. Most of the Foot ninja had already shaken off their confusion and were moving to intercept the grappling duo—emphasis on the present tense.

They had to hand it to Mikey. He had a talent for tenacity.

Raphael was the first to reach them, grunting as he threw himself into the Shredder's chest and drove him back toward their goal: the sewer shaft. After gaining significant ground in a few strides, Raph was knocked aside by a direct knee to the abdomen courtesy of Saki.

"Mikey!" Leo called out as he engaged a throng of Foot and led them away from his brother, "We need you to get him down the manhole!"

Glancing about until he spotted the target over his shoulder—mere yards behind him—Mikey signaled his assent. Leo didn't see. He was ducking a shuriken to the face.

Although considerably exhausted from the rounds of abusive whiplash he had endured, Michelangelo was ready to end it. Too bad there weren't any rodeo clowns around to do his job for him. With a fierce jerk, he pulled on his nunchuck and recklessly threw all his weight back. Equilibrium tilted in his favor, and gravity did the rest.

Faced with the realization that his world was tilting, the Shredder futilely waved his arms to regain his balance, but nothing could halt his head-over-heels plunge down the exposed entrance to the sewers. As they fell back, Mikey released his hold and flipped his body, landing just short of the manhole. His stomach smacked into the concrete, effectively knocking the air out of his lungs as he flopped down in fatigue.

Grinning breathlessly, Mikey managed a soft whistle that trailed off gradually as it built up to the inevitable splash that echoed from below.

"Knucklehead," Raph snorted in response as he snatched up a Foot ninja who tried to pounce on his prone little brother. Holding up the struggling man by his collar, he drew his fist back—a livid glint in his eye. But his punch never landed.

In that next instant, several things happened.

A small bundle of lit trash was flung through the air, illuminating the night sky briefly before plummeting. As it followed its arc, the airborne torch was accompanied by a sharp yell: "Dive for cover!"

Reflexively dropping the ninja he held, Raph ran past Mikey, grabbing his brother by the wrist and towing him none-too-gently behind as he went, and hurtled them both behind the broadside of a dumpster where Donny and Leo were already crouched.

Even several Foot acknowledged the warning and took shelter behind trashcans. Some simply fell to the ground and covered their heads.

With a last playful wink of light, the torch vanished down the manhole. Then, there was silence.

After bracing himself for a tense moment, Don's shoulders slumped indignantly at the mocking absence of results. "That's _it_? Well, if that wasn't the biggest disap—"

He was cut short by an ear-shattering explosion.

Shockwaves shook the concrete floor beneath the brothers' feet as the muffled roaring spread through the adjacent sewer networks deep below with alarming speed and intensity. Donatello had his destructive domino effect.

Further down the road the clatter of other manhole covers being forcibly blown from the pavement sent unsettling chords resounding through the night as each slab of metal struck the ground in turn, rattling before inertia settled in.

In the alley itself, heat waves and flaming debris erupted from the open shaft, the projectiles battering against the side of the dumpster with the consistency of heavy rain on a tin rooftop. An occasional blow was more pronounced than the others, causing Leo to instinctively tighten his protective grip around his brothers' shoulders. .

But worst of all were the screams. Several Foot unlucky enough to find themselves beside the manhole upon eruption made their misfortune known to all within earshot, but their leader was by far the most vocal. The brothers only cringed and huddled closer through the ordeal, trying to block out the chilling sounds.

As long as it seemed to last, all these sensations ended in a matter of seconds, and soon enough the tumult was replaced by an eerie calm. The ringing silence seemed to burden the turtles' ears more than the explosion did.

The first to crack open an eye, Mikey tentatively nudged Donny in the side with his elbow. "Is it… over?" he asked hoarsely, coughing back disturbed particles of dust and dirt that mixed with the burnt smell in the air.

Was it? All those evenings of stress and speculation resolved just like that? Don strained to listen for any possibility of a relapse. Nothing. "I think so," he ventured slowly, rising to his feet. A quick glimpse over the dumpster confirmed this. The alley was a mess, but clear of danger.

The ground around the manhole was charred, the manhole itself cracked and widened by the explosion with pieces of concrete littering the pavement. Several lumps of unidentifiable refuse—as well as the shaft leading to the sewers—were still smoking slightly. The dumpster and trashcans had been dented here and there from the crude shrapnel ejected by the blast.

Even the air, foul odor aside, bore signs of Donatello's little experiment. It seemed dimly hazy, though the air in the sewers was undoubtedly in far worse condition.

There was no sign of the Foot. They had simply disappeared. Spooked, no doubt.

Raph hopped the dumpster and felt the grit shift beneath his feet when he landed. Surveying the alley, he absently kicked a chunk of concrete down the steaming shaft and paused to hear the rubble rattle on its way down and eventually splash in the water below.

Stepping up beside Raph, Leo's gaze trained on the manhole as well. "So that's it?" He glanced over and met each of his brother's eyes in turn, holding Don's last. "Someone please confirm me on this. The Shredder is finally gone, right?"

Silence.

"By all rights he should be…" Don trailed off, unconvinced of his own reassurance. He coughed and whipped his hand before his face to clear the air.

"Should?" Raph pinned his brother with an incredulous scowl.

Don shrugged. "Trust me, Raph. I wish I could say it with absolute certainty. I really do. But how many times have we gone through this dance to ultimately find ourselves disappointed?"

Mikey had to use his fingers for this one. "Well, there's that time he was crushed by a water tower, and that time Leo decapitated him, and that time—"

Don threw his arms up in surrender. "I know! My point proven."

This was too much. "Come _on_, Donny!" Raphael emphatically gestured at the manhole with both hands, looking between the smoking shaft and his brother several times in exasperation. "No one could survive that!"

"I cut his head off and he survived that," Leo interjected calmly.

"Yeah, well that was before we knew he was a frickin' space squid." Raphael countered.

"Well we did blow him up before," Mikey quipped as he leaned heavily on the dumpster, twiddling his thumbs. "And that didn't work."

True. Leo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his snout. Why couldn't it ever be easy? "Look, let's just assume he's gone until Foot activity picks up again. …_If _it picks up again."

The ultimatum was met with more silence. Of course Foot activity would pick up again. They weren't that lucky.

"So…" Mikey broke in, punctuating his interruption with a mournful glance at the delivery boxes crushed beyond recognition and resting in a pile of filth on the alley floor, "Does this mean we need to go back and order more pizza?"

**A/N: Hehe. Okay, I couldn't give Donny an episode over methane, have the whole Lair go on fire-lock-down, and not let anything happen when the moment of truth came! That would just be cruel. Granted, the whole thing is cruel to begin with, but... Stay tuned for more soon. **


	7. Brave Face

**A/N: Another update! Enjoy. =)**

**Mondhexe: That was a really informative PM! No need to fear flaming. Concrit is good, and you really seem to know your stuff. As for asphyxiation... Sh! ;) I conveniently skirted that. I don't want to completely drive the guys out of the Lair, after all. They'd kill me. lol. Thanks, though.**

**Now on with the show!**

The night was abruptly interrupted by the piercing wail of sirens in the distance. Numerous emergency response vehicles were racing to the scene per request of several shaken residents who had called in to make insistent reports when the explosion jolted them awake at the ungodly hour. Already dazed dreamers aroused from sleep by the rising commotion were beginning to slide open windows and curiously peer out into the darkness. A few wandered out onto the street in mild interest. Odd imitations of the living dead given their drowsy shuffles.

"We need to make ourselves scarce," Leo murmured in warning with an uneasy glance toward the street. Speculation on their enemy's fate could continue at April's with Splinter present to hear their account.

The other's nodded.

Silent as a wraith, Leonardo used the dumpster to boost himself up to the fire escape's ladder directly above. It was probably wise to avoid the sewers at this time. Don followed close on his heels.

As Raph approached the ladder and began to hoist himself up, he flinched at the clamorous rattling of the dumpster below coupled with the labored guttural sounds that marked Mikey's exertions. "Hurry up and try to keep it down, Mikey. Aren't you supposed to be a ninja?" Raph growled with a glance of contempt over his shoulder.

Squinting through the shadows he saw Mikey's dark outline drag itself up over the edge of the dumpster and stagger to its feet. After a few clumsy steps forward, he stumbled and gripped the first rung of the ladder to keep his balance, though his legs continued to shake mutinously. Now that Mikey was standing within the glow of a lamp just outside the alley, Raph's eyes widened at what the dim yellow light exposed.

His little brother's legs were marred by moist black streaks and smears that glistened faintly. Blood. The liquid still appeared to ooze freely from a series of nasty-looking gashes on his legs—some of them more severe than others.

With a pang of guilt, Mikey witnessed the concern flit across Raph's face and tried to put him at ease with a shallow grin. "Move your butt, Raph." Dang. Did his voice really sound that awful? He cleared his throat and tried again, "I don't want to look at it longer than I have to."

What any with an untrained eye would have mistaken to be a smile Raph understood immediately to be teeth clenched in pain. Without a word he slid down the ladder and landed with a dull _thud _beside his brother, tensing as the dumpster groaned in protest at the sudden movement. A sharp glance to his right reassured him that no one on the street had been compelled to investigate the noise. Yet. "Dammit, Mikey," he whispered. His face probably revealed more than he would like. "What happened to your legs?"

Forcing a weak laugh, Mikey retorted, "I'd ask the same about you," indicating the gash on Raph's cheek, "but if you ask me, it's an improvement."

Raphael was not amused. "Cut the bull, Mikey. If Donny could see ya now, he'd sooner throw y'over his shoulder than let you walk."

"What's taking so long?" Leo hissed anxiously as he peered over the edge of the roof, his head snapping in the direction of another punctuated siren as the alarms drew nearer.

Sparing Raph a sidelong glance, Mikey gripped both sides of the ladder and called softly, "Nothing, bro! I'm coming up." His smile wavered into a wince as he tried to push himself onto the first rung.

"Like _shell_ y'are!" Raph snapped. On that note, he crouched with his back turned to Mikey and glanced over his shoulder, smothering his brother with a challenging scowl. "Wrap your arms around my neck and I'll carry us both up."

Mikey maintained his stubborn hold on the ladder rung. Like _shell_ he would. He still had some dignity. "No, thanks. I can—"

"Don't be an idiot," Raph contended, emphasizing his statement with a pointed nod at the street where hushed voices were starting to collect.

After another moment of hesitation, the protest flashing in Mikey's blue eyes melted into surrender, and he released the rung, gratefully collapsing against his brother's shell as his knees buckled from his own weight.

Despite the condition of his legs, Michelangelo's arms seemed relatively unscathed and willing to cooperate. Wrapping them around Raph's neck and lacing his fingers, Mikey allowed his legs to dangle limply as Raphael slowly rose to his full height—albeit admitting a slight hunch in his posture for his brother's convenience—and hastily scaled the fire escape.

Taking the climb two rungs at a time, the task didn't seem to beleaguer Raph as much as his brother's periodic hisses of pain when a jolt would jar his legs. But the burdened pace wasn't a picnic, either.

Just as his arms began to strain from the effort and his neck object to the choking drag of the additional weight on his back, he cleared the ledge. Taking a knee at a safe distance from the drop-off, he carefully eased Mikey to the rooftop and called for his brothers, who were already racing over. Raph's gentle manner alone was enough to hint that something was wrong. Very wrong.

"His legs are pretty beat up, Donny," Raph supplied. There wasn't really a need to point it out. The sticky mess was all too apparent.

So it was a medical issue. Leo graciously stood aside to give Don space to work, their resident medic already falling into his habitual clinical detachment as he knelt on the rooftop beside Mikey and surveyed the damage. His brow knit together as his eyes flitted from one laceration to the next, lithe fingers gently prodding the wounds to gauge their severity.

"It's hard to tell in this light," he murmured more to himself than anyone in particular. Untying his belt, he tore the cloth into strips and began applying rough bandages. "This should help slow the bleeding. At least until we can get him to April's where I can run a more thorough assessment with real first-aid supplies and proper lighting at my disposal."

His eyes flicked up to Mikey's briefly and then back down to his hands as they worked. His tone softened. "How long have you been bleeding, Mike?"

"Um…" Mikey's face tensed as Don's fingers grazed a particularly sensitive area, and his brother paused thoughtfully to proceed with a gentler touch.

"Since his boneheaded stunt," Raph finished. It was a statement, not a question. Obviously close combat with the Shredder didn't come without its risks, and he was already berating himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Mikey grinned sheepishly in response. As good as any admittance. "Well, rodeos aren't as easy when the bull you're riding bites back and your saddle is made of spikes," he qualified cryptically.

Don felt a half-smile quirk his features, even under the less-than-amusing circumstances. "As odd as it may seem, I know exactly what you're saying." And sure enough, evidence of a clawed gauntlet as well as sharp armor marked the cuts and punctures he attended to.

"Good cuz I never do," Raph rejoined, tweaking Mikey's mask into a blindfold.

That drew a chuckle out of his younger brother, which was the most Raphael could contribute for now. And frankly, it did more on occasion to aid in recovery than even the best painkillers. In Mikey's case, laughter really was the most potent medicine he could take.

Leo smiled at the exchange but stared off toward the sound of the sirens again, crossing his arms restlessly. They really couldn't linger. On the rooftops, or anywhere near the site, for that matter.

"Almost done, Leo." Don could read his brother as well as anyone, and now was no exception—even under pressure. Call it a sixth sense, or call it keying onto to Leo's nervous tick, but either way, it was hard to miss his contained anxiety. Catching it was another concern altogether.

"And… done." Don stood and gazed about momentarily with his bloody hands held out. For lack of a better solution, he sighed in resignation and smeared the grime onto his plastron to wash off later. "Raph, I know you'll want to carry him, so by all means do it. Leo—" Don stoically met his brother's eyes, "—lead the way."

Leo waited just long enough for Raph to scoop Mikey up in an effortless bridal carry, and then like so many wisps of smoke, the four melded into the night.

**A/N: *peers out from under desk* What? It's the Shredder! I honestly could not see how Mikey would get away with his stunt unscathed...**


	8. Fin

**A/N: And here's the final chapter! A big thank-you for all my reviewers, favoriters, alerters, and lurkers for making this such a fun ride. You guys just add to the experience. **

_**Hisomi**_**: Right you are! But Mikey would sooner take a hit than let his brothers take it for him, I believe. Plus, he gets some pretty awesome bragging rights that make it all worth it in his mind. Thanks for your review!**

Mikey fidgeted on the couch as Don applied the final bandages to his legs back at April's apartment. In the chair across from him Raph sat patiently as April tended to some of his minor cuts with the supplies from her own med kit. The fact that they had multiple med kits said something in itself.

"So how bad is it, Donny-boy?" Mikey sat up a little straighter to try and peer over his brother's shoulder as he worked.

"Good, good…" Donny replied vacantly. Whenever his attention was divided between two tasks—in this case talking and doctoring—Donatello tended to give one subject greater thought than the other. Michelangelo was the first to observe that talking usually took the back seat. How? As limited as his medical knowledge was, Mikey knew that when Don answered such questions as "How bad is it broken?" or "Am I going into shock?" with "Mmhmm" or "Are you now?" something wasn't quite clicking all the way for his brother.

"Don," Mikey prompted slowly, "Did you even hear me?"

"Hm?" Don bit off the strap of gauze and tucked it to prevent any unwinding.

"I'm breaking out in a purple rash that's oozing puss. Is it contagious?"

A few more nips and tucks, and Don sat back on his haunches to view the result. Clearly satisfied, he looked up and realized Mikey was staring at him. "Did you say something?" he asked innocently.

Yep. He had been off in Donnyland again. "Yeah, bro. How bad is it?"

"Oh." Don packed away any loose material and gently pat Mikey's bandages with an air of confidence. "Better than expected, actually. I anticipated far more grievous repercussions considering the source of your injuries, but I guess given the rather unexpected nature of your offensive tactics—"

Leo smiled at the blank expression that stole across Mikey's face at his brother's rambling. Time to save him. Walking up and leaning on the back of the couch, Leo cleared his throat and tapped Donatello's shoulder. "Um, Don?"

Donny paused at the question. "Yeah?"

"I think he only wants to know how long he's bedbound."

Catching on to the look of exasperation clearly evident in Mikey's eyes, Don allowed his face to soften apologetically as he gave the legs one last survey. "Right… I'd say two weeks at least before they're properly healed. You did get—forgive the pun—thoroughly shredded."

It was an awful pun. Ignoring his brother's attempt at bedside humor, Mikey jumped right into the standard interrogation. "So no skateboarding?"

Don rolled his eyes but replied all the same. "No, Mikey."

"No patrols?"

"No."

"No getting chased by Raph?"

Raphael snorted, absently fingering the bandage on his face. "Moron."

Pausing in her administrations, April frowned good-naturedly and punched him in the arm. "Be nice, or you can patch _yourself_ up."

Though the punch had hardly any force—as if she could have bruised him anyway—Raph rubbed the spot to humor her and flashed a wry grin, settling back into his dogged silence.

April winked at Mikey, and he returned it.

Favoring Leo and Raph with a sly glance, Mikey tucked his hands behind his head, leaned back into his pillows, and closed his eyes, uttering a long-suffering sigh. "The things I do for my brothers…" Cracking open a single eye, he asked, "So, what about video games?"

And there it was. Leo reached down and affectionately rubbed Mikey's head. "That I'll allow."

"Ice cream?"

Don pretended to consider it. "Perhaps."

"A foot massage to ease the suffering of my poor legs?" Mikey flexed his toes, and his brothers wrinkled their snouts.

"Don't push it," Raph grunted from his seat.

Mikey smiled and shifted to get more comfortable. _Ow_. Okay, so moving wasn't a good idea. After he shrugged off a wince, he regarded Don curiously as something came to mind. "So it really worked. The whole fire-blows-up-sewers thing."

Don exchanged a glance with Leo and met Mikey's eye line. "It would seem so."

No arguing with that. As he crossed his arms and meditated on it a few seconds longer, Mikey frowned. "You know what I still don't get? How come we didn't blow up to begin with?"

Mulling over the question, Don stared off thoughtfully.

* * *

><p>In another time and place, a meddlesome authoress lay stretched out on her bed reading a chemistry textbook. As her eyes dully skimmed over the page, they suddenly brightened as the chapter touched upon the combustive properties of methane.<p>

A small smile quirking her features, she mumbled to herself, "Fire in the sewers? Now that would be a fun fic to write…" Storing the idea away for a future time when she would get off her lazy butt and finally write it, she resumed reading the chapter with a renewed interest and appreciation.

* * *

><p>Don shrugged earnestly. "We may never know, Mikey."<p>

* * *

><p>Officer Hersch gave the alley one last once-over before clicking his pen off on his clipboard and dismissively trudging toward the patrol car idling by the curb.<p>

Tossing his report onto the backseat, he slid behind the wheel and shifted the gear from park to drive, signaling as he pulled out onto the road.

"So…" his partner's eyes glinted curiously, "What happened?"

Hersch sighed as he turned down the next street toward the station. "Looked like some sort of sewer explosion. A big one, too. The paramedics were turned away once we were sure no one was hurt, and the reporters got what they needed for their evening segments. I didn't see any sign of the jerk-off responsible, and it's just as well. It may have been a freak thing for all the evidence left behind."

His partner scratched the stubble on his chin but kept his eyes trained on Hersch. "Do you think it was the work of a gang?"

"Nah. There'd be a bigger mess to clean up otherwise. Plus, there weren't any bodies. A rescue team even searched the sewers to be safe, and they came back empty-handed."

With nothing more to say, the two directed their conversation to more pleasant topics as their car bumped down the road.

* * *

><p>Leo and Raph sat leisurely on the edge of an old Federal and surveyed the dark streets below. Neither spoke for the stretch of a companionable silence. Then Raphael broke the relative peace of their little corner of the city.<p>

"All right, Fearless. What's up? Y'sure picked a dull part of town to patrol."

Nothing went unnoticed between the two, which drew a crooked smirk from Leo. "Well, Don and I were talking…"

Raph groaned, perhaps in a method a tad over-dramatic. Mikey must be rubbing off on him. "Not this again. Look, I won't smoke, okay? So can I skip the lecture?"

Rather than respond, Leo reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew a small lighter and cigarette, holding the two out to his brother. After gauging his brother's admittedly dumbfounded reaction, he spoke. "There wasn't going to be a lecture, actually. We discussed it, and decided that you had a point. You're mature enough to make your own decisions, and the choice should be yours."

Unable to think of a clever retort or an appropriate gesture, Raph settled for stealing a suspicious glance into his brother's serious expression. "Ya mean it?" He pointed at the cigarette to be certain they were both on the same page. "Just like that?"

Leo nodded solemnly. "Obviously I don't approve, but it's not up to me for once."

A grin slowly cracked Raph's face. Not needing any further encouragement, he reached out and carefully accepted the proffered items with an almost reverential restraint. Tucking the cigarette between his teeth, he flicked the lighter, lit, and took a long, suave pull. Then gagged.

Coughing and spluttering, he viciously tossed the offensive object across the roof where it smoldered into the gravel. After pounding on his chest several times in a vain attempt to clear his lungs, he fired a sharp, watery glare at his brother and hissed hoarsely, "What? So you're tryin'… to kill me… now?" Another fit of choked gags seized him.

Leo couldn't conceal a smug smirk in the wake of his triumph. "I'm afraid not; that's a genuine cigarette Raph. Personally, I don't find it a very appealing habit to fall into, but if it's what you want…" He ducked out of the reach of Raphael's lunge, still grinning and just short of an 'I told you so.'

"I'm gonna… _kill you!_"

"You'd have to catch me first, Wheezey." To prove his point, Leo jumped to his feet and calmly strode several paces away, while Raph rose, only to double over with more coughing.

A small beep interrupted them. Leo reached casually for his phone when it buzzed and looked over the text he received. "It's Mikey. He says we need to get home fast; Don brought in the paper and apparently we indirectly made the news… Again. Not as good as our TCRI infiltration, I'll warrant, but still impressive. Coming?" He glanced over his shoulder with mocking patience.

With a growl and another wheeze, Raph pursued his already sprinting brother. As he ran past the cigarette, he stopped it out, his heel grinding it into the rooftop with more force than necessary.

**A/N: And the end! What? Of course Shredder lived. Pfft. The Shredder doesn't **_**die**_**.**

**As for Raph's smoking, I personally think he'd never get beyond the first cigarette, if he even tries it to begin with. From what I've heard, the first cigarette is gross, and I think that would be enough to turn him off completely. He doesn't seem like the type to have the patience to acquire a taste.**

**And the moral of this story? Part of it is knowledge is power, or more appropriately, ignorance is bliss (Kudos to **_**Reinbeauchaser**_** for picking up on that in one of her reviews). Another part is we, the authors, help shape the TMNT fandom as much as the creators or producers do (**_**Mystic Medjai**_** picked up on that one), so write wisely, my friends. Otherwise some seriously peeved-off turtles are gonna come banging down your door demanding recompense for drastically inconveniencing their lives for the sake of a handful of reviews and chuckles. *peeks over chair as a sai is wedged between the wall and door jamb, working through the deadbolt* Now, if you'll excuse me, dear readers, I have pressing matters to attend to… heh. **


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